fairy tale
by little red after the wolf
Summary: once upon a time, the princess became the dragon. — thundercest


**A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! **

**Did ya miss me? **

**Well, I know it's been ages but I've been busy as all hell. I promise I'll get a new chapter for CB up in like two weeks and I'll post another one-shot within the week. **

**If you guys want more from this one, just tell me in a review (but don't JUST ask for more, give a proper review too, I wrote this in the hospital, come on, I could've slept all day with my 104 fever but I chose to write you guys an one-shot 866 words long instead). I'll see what I come up with if you guys want more and if it isn't terrible, I'll post that.**

* * *

Everyone is looking at you, watching with expectant eyes, everyone waiting for your answer. And you want to scream and rip her hair out, confess the act, say no a thousand times, tell him you have no feelings for him beyond friendship. But all eyes are on you and you know exactly who your heart yearns for and who your body aches for.

And he's a big no no.

"I couldn't be happier." _LIAR!_ your brain screams. _You could be so much happier, with him._

But that will never be.

"Challenge accepted," he grins, getting up and gently grabbing your waist, pulling you close. His lips press against yours, gentle and warm, passionate.

Sparkless.

"Oh, Max, you don't mind if I take Pheebs to prom, right, dude? I don't want any beef between us, after all." Thoughtful, kind, compassionate, athletic, funny, everything you want. So why don't you want him?

"What? Oh, yeah, sure, Cole, whatever," your _brother,_ as you remind yourself nightly, shrugs. Thoughtless, mean, almost cruel, a villain, _your twin brother,_ he is nothing like Prince Charming. But his eyes shine and sometimes he looks at you like you're some kind of angel.

Really you're just sick and twisted.

"Come on, Cole, we've gotta get to English," you giggle, pulling him along with you.

Oh, how it fizzes, oh, how it dies.

* * *

You don't know what to call this feeling; your head is weightless and spinning, your stomach is heavy and sinking, your skin is tight and suffocating, your fingertips are electric and alive, our wrists' bones are vibrating in the coyest, most adrenaline filled way, you feel the overwhelming urge to hurl. But what is that burning of ice? You can feel it, trembling in the back of your head, fighting to exist.

It's the coldest kind of heat.

And all he did was grab your wrists for a second.

You don't know if you're scared or excited by the rush that just hit you like a goddamn truck but you have to go to Cole and hug him or kiss him or something. Just to remind yourself what Prince Charming feels like.

Prince Charming with the blonde hair and blue eyes.

But that image slips away all too soon.

Oh, how he fizzes, oh, how he dies.

* * *

You try to strain your memory back, back all the way to when you hated that damnable smirk and those stupid pranks. You draw a blank.

Is there only now? Was there never a then?

Have you always been so sick as to love your brother, Phoebe? As to dream of that night in the Thundervan going differently, unhitched by Nora and Billy? As to dream of him fucking you that night? Pounding, grunting, you've seen his cock before, only once. You didn't knock.

And you swear he'd been about to go and moan your name.

But you're just delusional.

Prince Charming wouldn't kiss your cheek so sweetly if he knew.

Oh, how sanity fizzes, oh, how sanity dies.

* * *

Normality must've perished under the burden of those dangerous dreams and those depraved feelings. Those things that make you the dragon and not Sleeping Beauty or Snow White or Cinderella.

You crave its return but don't dare pretend it will be back.

Not even the kiss of true love (if it even is) will break that curse. That curse may be choice or it may be hell thrust upon you but you don't protest enough to the tricks of your brain, making you stare as he passes and drool as he smiles.

You've even began to cough up word after word in no right order to Max.

_But you can't help it,_ your brain whispers, _it's not your choice, it's just love._ **Lust,** you correct your brain. _Don't lie to yourself, I know you better than you know him._ You should be worried your brain has started to talk back.

But you already knew you were crazy.

"Pheebs, Mom is making Hank's weird turkey, meatball, pizza thingy again. Do you wanna just get something to eat now?" His voice almost sounds like an angel before you remember he's [unknowingly] your captor.

"Sure, Max," you respond, not wanting to sound out of the ordinary. But you realize too late that you're spewing some stupid ramble about what that damn meal is called and how you wouldn't wanna get in Dad's way while he tries to eat it.

"Yeah, I get it," he cuts you off, his voice between irritated and amused, "let's ditch our afternoon classes to get it, come on." He offers you his hand, "don't you trust me?"

For a second he's Aladdin and your Jasmine but that second leaves as soon as it comes.

"No," you deadpan, taking his hand anyways.

You think your head explodes in fireworks.

Oh, how it burns, oh, how it lives.

But you hate yourself for loving it.

* * *

"I couldn't be happier." **Even if it's sick.**

Oh, how she fizzes, oh, how he dies.


End file.
